Spiced Latte Killer: Book 10 in The INNcredibly Sweet Series Read online

  “Nari, darlin, would you excuse us for just a moment, honey?” Missy asked sweetly.

  “Oh yes, of course,” the young woman scurried away, perhaps sensing the imminent storm.

  Once she was gone, the smile disappeared from Missy’s face and she turned to face Petaluma.

  “There’s something that you need to understand,” she began, her kitten-grey eyes flashing fire. “Grayson is very dear to me, and this wedding is my gift to him. I will see to it that he and Sarah get everything that they want for this wedding, and no one…” she leaned forward in her chair, her nose almost touching Grayson’s mother’s. “And I absolutely mean No One… is going to stand in the way of their happiness. Am I making myself completely clear here, Petaluma?” she ground out, her teeth clenched, with a savage smile still on her face.

  “Just who the heck do you think you are talking to me like that? He’s special to you? Well, big whooptie-doo, I’m his mother, how do you like that? I raised that boy, and I have a say in stuff like this, so put that in your hat and smoke it, Missy Prissy.”

  Echo, wanting to avoid potential disaster, leapt to her feet.

  “Missy, can I talk to you outside for a second?” she asked, taking her friend by the shoulders and leading her toward the front door.

  “Take your time, I got this,” Petaluma called after them. “Hey, girl, where’d you go?”

  “I’m here,” Nari appeared, as if by magic. “Can I get you something to drink? Some coffee or tea?” she asked, her eyes darting toward the front door, searching for Missy.

  Petaluma’s eyes narrowed.

  “What the heck do you mean by that?” she snarled, advancing toward the soft-spoken young woman. “You trying to say that I need coffee? What did those two tell you about me anyhow?”

  “I… no… uh, no one said anything, ma’am. I always offer guests coffee and tea. If you don’t like that, I could bring water… or… ?” Nari began apologetically.

  “Yeah, sure. You’re just like the rest of them, looking down that pretty little nose at drunk old Petaluma. I don’t need you to be judging me, you retail-working little…”

  “Petaluma!” Missy exclaimed, rushing toward her. “You stop that right now and apologize. Nari has been nothing but nice to all of us, and you can’t just throw wild accusations at people,” she insisted, her nostrils flaring in a way which signaled to Echo that fireworks might be about to begin.

  “I’ve had just about enough of you hoity-toity types tellin’ me what to do and what not to do! You ain’t got no right to do that,” Grayson’s madder-than-a-wet-hen mother squared off with the incensed blonde in front of her. “In fact, I’m done with the lot of ya. You can take your fancy airs and manners and shove ’em where the sun don’t shine. I’m outta here.”

  With that, she brushed past Missy, her bony shoulder making rough contact with the innkeeper’s. Echo placed a warning hand on her friend’s arm, whispering in her ear to just let Petaluma go. Missy turned back to an expressionless Nari, shaking with anger, her cheeks burning.

  “Nari, I am so sorry…” she began.

  “No worries. I work with people in different emotional states… nervous brides, grieving families, husbands who are in the doghouse; you wouldn’t believe some of the things I witness on a daily basis,” she smiled with understanding. “Would you ladies like a cup of tea?”

  “Yes, please,” Echo replied with a smile, leading a still-rattled Missy back to the table filled with floral books. “We’ll just start looking through these again.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Izzy Gilmore gazed at the pile of unopened mail on her dining room table and sighed. The world-famous horror author had found herself living in a real-life nightmare when she was abducted a few weeks ago. The works that she penned paled by comparison. After literally losing the tip of her finger in order to escape, she was home now, and safe… as far as she knew. The only thing that she knew about her captor was that he had come to her looking for her ex-boyfriend, a Marine veteran named Spencer Bengal. Where Spencer was, and why the awful man who’d taken her was looking for him was a mystery.

  Izzy had replaced her cell phone when she’d returned to her pretty pink cottage in Calgon. Her old phone had gone missing when she was abducted, and the new device had immediately starting pinging with notifications of texts, voicemails, and emails, nearly all from her overbearing publisher, wondering why she’d missed the deadline for her latest book.

  “How sad is it that I get kidnapped for a few weeks, and when I come home, the only messages I have are from my publisher?” the depressed young author murmured, turning off the notification sounds on her phone and tossing it onto the table.

  The mail would wait, her book would wait, all she could think of at the moment was a hot bath and a sandwich. Certain that everything in her fridge had spoiled, she made a mental note to order the sandwich for delivery when she got out of the tub, and trudged upstairs.

  Easing into the steaming, fragrant water, Izzy made certain that the bandage wrapped around the end of her abbreviated finger didn’t get wet. She had no idea how she was going to become accustomed to typing without her pinkie fingertip, but she knew she didn’t really have a choice, so she’d figure it out somehow. Life seemed so bleak at the moment. Spencer had finally poured out his heart to her, ready to commit, and she’d turned him away. There was just too much about him that she didn’t understand, and wasn’t sure that she wanted to understand. He was sweet and kind and handsome and everything she’d ever wanted in a man, but she just couldn’t deal with the secrets of his past and present, and she’d told him so. The crushed look in his eyes had practically torn her heart from her chest, but she’d remained steadfast in her resolve, which left her here, hurting and alone.

  Her doorbell rang, and she ignored it. She hadn’t ordered her sandwich yet, so there was no reason that anyone should be ringing the bell. Whoever was at the door rang the bell one more time, and knocked for good measure, then gave up, much to Izzy’s relief. She wasn’t up to dealing with people right now, particularly because the last time she’d answered her door she’d been abducted.

  She was rewrapping her stitched-up finger, which had actually given her the inspiration for a hospital scene in her latest book, when she cocked her head to the side, listening. Had she heard something? Was it her imagination running wild? PTSD? Her heart sped up, and she held her breath, silently setting down the adhesive tape that she’d been using. Izzy waited, breathing shallowly and listening hard, for several minutes before deciding that she was just being paranoid. While it was true that she had good reason to be more than a bit afraid, after having been kidnapped from her own home, she had to realize that the odds of something like that happening to the same person twice within a month were astronomically in her favor.

  Giving herself a shake, Izzy pulled on a pair of yoga pants and a comfy, shapeless t-shirt. She didn’t really care how she looked at this point. After she finished her sandwich, she planned to hole up and write for as many hours as she could before sleep claimed her. Running a hand through her hair, giving the damp locks a little toss to help them dry, the author looked at herself in the mirror, gave a resigned sigh upon spotting the suitcases below her eyes, and headed for the stairs.

  She dialed the number to the deli from memory, and nearly dropped her phone when she walked into the living room and saw two dark, menacing-looking men sitting casually in her floral chintz chairs as though they’d dropped in for a spot of tea. She hung up on the deli and stared at the men, more angry than frightened.

  “What now?” she demanded, crossing her arms defiantly. “Are you here to kidnap me too?” she asked, when the men didn’t respond.

  Izzy didn’t drop her gaze, refusing to budge. She wouldn’t speak again until they had. Her heart was thudding in her chest and adrenalin raced through her veins, but her anger kept her strong, and she gritted her teeth, determined to wait them out.

  “Where is Steve Arnold?” one of them
asked, finally, in a heavily accented voice.

  “Who is Steve Arnold?” her eyes narrowed.

  “We don’t have time to play games,” the other goon growled with an equally heavy accent.

  “Well, that’s just dandy,” Izzy raised her voice, furious. “Because I don’t have time for this stupid harassment either. I have no idea who you’re talking about, and you can just take your attitude and get out,” she shouted, heading for the door.

  One of the men appeared between her and the door in a flash.

  “Great, a ninja,” the exasperated author muttered, glad that at least the man hadn’t touched her… yet.

  “It is very important that we… speak to him immediately,” the man in front of her insisted in a low voice.

  She noted the holstered weapons crossed over the man’s chest, and the bulge near his ankle, and swallowed hard. Bravely holding eye contact, she took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh.

  “Look, I really have no idea what you’re talking about,” she shook her head, cursing the fact that she had very little recollection of what had happened to her when she’d been kidnapped, other than that she had sacrificed part of her pinkie to escape.

  The man reached into his back pocket and Izzy winced, hoping that he wasn’t drawing a gun. He pulled out a photo that made Izzy’s heart drop to her knees. In the photo were three men, Spencer, the man who had helped him rescue her, and the man who had kidnapped her. The photo was dark and looked like it had been taken a few years earlier. Spencer looked younger than she had ever seen him, and had short hair rather than his long dark waves.

  “Do you know these men?” he demanded, shoving the picture at her.

  Izzy’s mind raced. She didn’t want to admit to knowing Spencer, thinking that it might somehow put him in danger, but she wanted to give the men something that would make them go away.

  “The one in the middle kidnapped me a few weeks ago,” she admitted, wrapping her arms around her midsection and dropping her gaze.

  “Where did he take you?” the other man barked, coming over to stand beside the first one.

  “I have no idea. I was blindfolded and drugged. I remember being on an airplane, and waking up on a beach a few miles from here a few days ago,” she lied, her voice trembling.

  “Were you kept in a cell?”

  “No, I don’t think so. It sounded like I was in a city. I heard sirens and cars outside and kept hoping that someone would come rescue me.”

  The two men exchanged a glance and seemed to come to some sort of decision. To Izzy’s profound relief, they moved toward her kitchen, heading for the back door. With one hand on the knob, the first man turned around and gave Izzy a look that sent chills down her spine.

  “If you are lying, it will not go well for you. Whatever Steve Arnold did will seem like child’s play when we are done with you,” he promised darkly.

  Izzy stared at them wordlessly as they slipped out the door, refusing to be intimidated. When they left, closing the door quietly behind them, she nearly fainted with relief, but was terrified at their parting statement. She’d been lying like crazy and now wondered what on earth she should do. Thinking for a moment, she dialed the number for Detective Chas Beckett.

  CHAPTER 4

  Detective Chas Beckett picked up his desk phone. It never rained but it poured. He’d just gotten a call that a homicide victim, had been discovered in a public restroom at the beach, and now, the desk sergeant had buzzed him letting him know that he had an urgent caller on the line.

  “Beckett,” he spoke into the receiver, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. “When did they leave?” he asked in a gentler tone, after listening to Izzy Gilmore at length. “Have you touched the doorknob since they left? Good, don’t touch it. I’ll send a forensics guy out as soon as I can. Are you safe? Okay, just try to relax. I’ll have a patrol car stop by, and…”

  Chas was interrupted by a very vehement Izzy at that point.

  “Oh, I see,” he replied gravely, closing his eyes for a brief moment. “Okay, well, sit tight then. I’ll make certain that the forensics guy arrives in an unmarked car, then I’ll come over to take a statement myself, but it may not be until later this afternoon. Something… came up.”

  When the detective hung up the phone, he was deeply troubled, and couldn’t help but wonder if the body found on the beach had anything to do with the visit that Izzy had received from the two strange men with heavy accents. He glanced down at his desk calendar, not surprised at all to see that it was Monday, then grabbed his keys and headed for the door.

  ***

  “Hey Timmy,” Fiona McCammish, Mortuary Manager, poked her head into her boss, Timothy Eckels’ office. “We got another stiff.”

  “Don’t call me that,” the mild-mannered mortician and coroner replied automatically, but he looked up with interest. “Cause of death?”

  “It was the homicide guy who called,” Fiona tried not to smile.

  The quirky young woman, whom Tim had required to get a makeover before he’d hire her, was fascinated with both the forensics and body preparation aspects of her job. The formerly pierced and mohawked gal was the perfect choice for Tim’s assistant. She was bold and brash, where he was introverted to the extreme. She was attractive and personable, while he was doughy and pale, sporting thick, nerdy glasses. Fiona handled the “people” side of the mortuary business: sales, funerals, wakes, etc.… while Tim taught the investigation and preparation techniques which fascinated her to no end.

  “Address?” he rose from his chair.

  “Already plugged into GPS,” she replied, going through the familiar ritual.

  “My bag?” he led the way to the mortuary’s garage.

  “Already in the car. I’m driving.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “You’re no fun,” she pretended to pout.

  “I’m aware.”

  ***

  Even Fiona sobered when she saw the victim splayed out on the sandy bathroom floor in a puddle of blood.

  “Wow, she looks so beautiful, like a porcelain doll,” she whispered as her boss stepped carefully around the body, taking photos at multiple angles.

  “Push the hair back from her neck,” Tim instructed, focused on his task.

  Fiona reached a gloved hand down, and without disturbing the body, pushed aside the young woman’s thick, shiny black hair.

  “Ah, ligature,” she murmured, noting the bruises. “But why would someone strangle her and then stab her too?”

  Tim’s response was to glance at her briefly with an eyebrow raised. She’d done it again. She knew that her boss didn’t like her speculating about the victim, or discussing details at the crime scene. He never made assumptions and refused to provide theories until after he’d had a chance to do a thorough examination.

  The coroner finished taking photos of the victim and the scene, then, with Fiona’s assistance, he bagged up the young woman’s body and loaded it into the hearse, making his way to the county morgue. He spent most of his time running the mortuary that he owned, but did double duty as the county coroner when he was needed, so he had offices both in the mortuary and the morgue. Fiona was paid to assist Tim in the mortuary, but chose to hang out with him and learn on her own time at the morgue. As long as she didn’t distract him from his tasks, he indulged the young woman’s interest in autopsies and asked her to assist on occasion.

  “So why would someone strangle her and then stab her?” she asked the moment they climbed into the car to transport the body.

  Tim grimaced and sighed, clearly he was uncomfortable with the subject, which surprised his assistant. The man was typically unflappable when it came to even the most dastardly homicides.

  “There are a couple of common possibilities… her attacker could have strangled her just long enough for her to lose consciousness so that they could transport her somewhere else, or…” he swallowed and trailed off.

  “Or what?” Fiona prompted sitti
ng forward in her seat.

  Tim sighed again.

  “Sometimes these things can be… sexual in nature,” he replied, eyes straight ahead, corners of his mouth turned down.

  Fiona’s eyes grew wide.

  “Oh, duh. Of course, why didn’t I think of that?” she nodded. “She didn’t look like the sex game type though.”

  “Never judge a book by its cover. We’ll know soon enough. Clearly the strangulation didn’t kill the victim. We’ll look for other clues during the autopsy.”

  “Oh, I never judge. For all I know, you could be one of those people who likes to get their freak on,” she teased, knowing she’d get a reaction from her boss.

  “Don’t be preposterous,” Tim kept his eyes forward, gazing out at the traffic through coke-bottle thick lenses, and it looked like his grip on the steering wheel might have tightened a tiny bit. “That’s entirely inappropriate.”

  “Oh lighten up, Timmy,” she grinned, full of mischief and knowing that he’d soon forgive and forget the awkward conversation. “It’s not like you have an HR department to report me to.”

  The mortician didn’t dignify her comment with a reply.

  ***

  “You’re certain that one of the men touched the doorknob and didn’t have gloves on?” Chas stared at an extremely shaken Izzy Gilmore.

  “Yes, I watched him. Why?”

  “The forensics tech didn’t find any trace of fingerprints. Not even a partial.”

  “How is that possible? That just doesn’t make sense. I saw him open the door with his bare hand,” Izzy shook her head.

  Chas had an idea of what might have happened, and he seriously hoped, for Izzy’s sake, that he was wrong. If no fingerprints showed up, it may be that the gentlemen who had paid her a visit didn’t have fingerprints, which would mean that they were professionals, and the implications of that could be dire. Izzy had told the detective everything, from beginning to end, begging him to not go through official channels to investigate, because she feared for Spencer’s safety if the goons who had shown up knew that she had gone to the police.